


you said you don't have to speak, i can hear you

by theviolonist



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know there are paparazzi outside your house, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	you said you don't have to speak, i can hear you

"You know there are paparazzi in front of your house, right?" is the first thing Ellen says when she comes in bearing beer and, hopefully, enough weed to make up for being the messenger of doom. 

Kristen grimaces. "Urgh. Who am I supposed to have fucked this time?"

Ellen gives a loose shrug. "I don't really follow your sexual adventures, sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. 

Kristen takes a can of beer from the pack. "It's fine. You brought beer, I forgive you."

Ellen gives her an oblique smile and toasts with her, making sticky beer pour on both their hands. She laughs when Kristen swears loudly. 

"Wow," she quirks an eyebrow when Kristen's gone through her string of curses. "I didn't know you could be so foul-mouthed."

"Yeah, well," Kristen says without really thinking, "there's a lot of things you don't know about me."

-

It takes half the pack and a respectable dose of weed before Ellen actually asks. 

She exhales, leaning back on the arm of Kristen's couch and shoving her feet in Kristen's lap. Kristen would protest, but she's feeling good, mellow and vaguely blissful, so instead she just wraps her fingers around Ellen's ankle where her jeans have ridden up. 

"Is it true you slept with Charlize Theron?"

Kristen gives a snorted laugh. "I thought you didn't care about my sexcapades."

Ellen shrugs. "Yeah, but... Charlize Theron, I mean. Did you?"

Kristen looks down out of habit; she's too high to be really bashful. "Once or twice, yeah." She doesn't mention the part where Charlize broke her heart because it would sound too melodramatic.

Ellen exhales again. Her mouth is red; the contrast is nice against the gauzy white. "Fuck. Cheers, man. How was it?"

Kristen squeezes her eyes shut. The memories play against the back of her eyelids, Charlize's blurry silhouette, wrapped in one of Kristen's plaid shirts, her sharp mouth slightly mocking. She swallows. "Good," she says. "Charlize is... like, she's scary at first, you know? But... yeah. Who told you, anyway?"

Ellen squints vaguely. "Robert. He - we met at some stupid gala thing I did for X-men. He's nice."

Kristen nods. "That bastard," she says, her voice distant, and Ellen chuckles. 

-

To be honest, Kristen doesn't even remember where she and Ellen met. They don't cross paths a lot on the red carpets, so Kristen supposes it was at a private thing. Ellen is - she's nice, she's fun and lively and she always has stories about how Joseph Gordon-Levitt is the biggest hipster of them all or that time she spent a year in a village in South America to learn how to live in complete autarchy. She listens to Kristen's ineloquent feminist rants and she's uncomplicated and Kristen, like everyone, loved _Juno_. 

So it doesn't really matter where they met, is the point. Now they meet up to hang out when they're in the same city, Ellen comes to Kristen's house and Kristen goes to Ellen's flat and they know each other's friends, and it's - cool. It's cool. Easy. 

-

Rob squints. His ability to look awkward in a tux is something that will never cease to amaze her, Kristen reflects. 

"So," he says, trying to ignore the flashing cameras and looping their arms together, "what's your deal with Ellen?"

Kristen gives the camera a tight smile, already sighing internally at tomorrow's 'tight-ass Stewart' headlines. She can't help it if she finds strangers shoving cameras in her face mildly disturbing instead of exalting like she's apparently supposed to. "What do you mean, my _deal_?"

"Like, what's going on? Do you want to fuck her?"

Kristen snorts. "No, I don't want to fuck her. Why do you even care, anyway?"

Rob shrugs. "Well, since we're supposed to be in star-crossed love and all that shit, I figure I should know if you're going to come out of the closet and cuckhold me with everyone's favorite pregnant teenager." He tilts his head. "Besides, I'm not getting any these days, so I figured I would live vicariously through you."

"Sorry. I don't even know if she's gay, anyway."

Rob laughs loudly, attracting a paparazzo's eye. He lowers his voice. "If that's what you're waiting for to make your move, I don't think you have anything to worry about. It's, like, the worst-kept secret in Hollywood."

Kristen shrugs. "You know I don't listen to Hollywood gossip. Just because she looks -"

Rob squeezes her arm. "Yeah, K. Okay. All I'm saying is, you should go for it. Before you get ensnared by another blond she-devil, that is."

Kristen grimaces. "I thought we weren't -"

"Talking about Charlize, I know. Or Dakota." He sighs. "Smile, honey."

Kristen feels a pang of affection for him. Sometimes she regrets the times when they used to kiss and tell, because it was always so easy to reach for him, slant their mouths together and play make-believe; but really he's a better friend than he is a fuckbuddy, no matter how good a kisser he is. (And besides, as he regularly assures her, he'll always be there if she's lonely. For someone who's not a lesbian, he's surprisingly enthusiastic about eating pussy.)

She presses into Rob's warm side and smiles at the camera, trying to look as much like an anemic vampire as she can.

-

Ellen takes her to see a hipster french band called Lily & the Prick, only frowning lightly when Kristen inevitably mocks the name. The show is nice, and afterwards they have dinner in a little Italian place, which would feel suspiciously like a date were it not for Ellen's complete disregard of sartorial propriety and the fact that the new must of the dating scene seems to be to look supremely uninterested whatever happens. 

Ellen is, in fact, charmingly eager and serious when it comes to her work and her various humanitarian projects. She gets enthusiastic over her tiramisu and even Kristen can't help breaking out in an awed grin when she goes on an excited tirade about working with Leonardo Di Caprio and Marion Cotillard.

She rests her spoon on the table, leans forward. "Sorry, I talk a lot. What about you? What was it like meeting Joan Jett?"

And wow, okay, Kristen's not usually a prolific conversationalist but this is one of the subjects she can actually talk about for hours without discontinuing. 

So she does - well, not hours, but a long enough time for Ellen's eyes to get shiny and interested. It's nice to see, and now that Rob put the idea in her head, yeah, Kristen can see where he comes from. Ellen's definitely pretty, and she's got that... that spark about her. It sounds cheesy, but it's true. 

When they get out of the restaurant it's nearing one a.m. and there's no paparazzi waiting for them outside. Kristen wobbles on her legs. "I'm a bit drunk," she says.

Ellen leans against her, smelling of red wine and fresh summer air. "Yeah." She chuckles, low. 

Eventually - though Kristen's not going to pretend she knows how they managed it - they make it back to Kristen's car, and Kristen leans against the door, exhales. "I can't go like that," she says with a blurry smile. "Sorry."

"It's fine. we can wait."

"I-" starts Kristen, and she doesn't know what she would have said, but Ellen tips forward on her heels and presses their mouths together. It's more a question than a real kiss; her lips still taste like chocolate and coffee and alcohol and it's nice, the quashing of an urge Kristen hadn't even realized was there, low and buzzing in her chest. Kristen hums into it. 

Ellen breathes out. She pulls away, smiles. "It's fine," she repeats. "We can wait."

-

It's no secret that Kristen's private. Like -- sure, she fucks girls once in a while, but it's no more people's business than her sleeping with Robert, or Rupert, for that matter. In fact, if people could stay the fuck out of her private life, the more the better. Of course she's not stupid, she knows it's not going to happen, at least not until the Twilight craze dies down; still, she's happy when Ellen says she doesn't want to come out. 

Kristen raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" She wasn't sure, but Ellen is usually so involved in her causes, she thought that maybe --

Ellen rolls on her stomach, twisting the sheet around her. "Nah. Like, I don't really care if someone paps us or anything, but I don't want to have a big press conference about how gay I am and all that. It's my life, you know?"

"Yeah," Kristen says, relieved.

Ellen slants her a look, swinging her legs off the mattress. "This is fun," she says matter-of-factly. "Do you want something to eat?"

Kristen smiles lazily, crossing her arms under her head on the pillow. "Sure. Bring me back some cereal, yeah?"

-

So that's how it happens: now when Ellen comes to her house they make out in Kristen's kitchen and Ellen eats Kristen out against the door of her bedroom. The press comments on their 'unusual friendship' but the word 'lesbian' doesn't sell unless there's photos to go with it, and those rumors are so rehashed no one really cares about them anymore. Dakota calls Kristen's house and Kristen feels like a jerk but also strangely triumphant when she tells her she has 'someone', unsure whether or not to call it dating; Rob laughs and then congratulates her for getting it together before actually starting to pine. 

All in all, it's -- nice. Which feels strange, honestly. Kristen is used to working for things and then failing; she's used to careful melancholy and passing her sadness off as indifference. This easy, careless happiness feels like a glitch in the pattern.

That being said, she's always been a big believer of the 'wait and see'. She settles back into it, decides to enjoy the ride. Whatever happens, right? 

-

"You know there are paparazzi outside your house, right?"

Kristen pushes Ellen against the kitchen counter and kisses her, slow and languid. Ellen sighs into the kiss.

"I know," Kristen says when she pulls away. "They've been here all day."

"Mm. Know why?"

"Apparently Rob and I are back together," Kristen says disinterestedly.

"Ah," Ellen says. "Maybe I should cancel tonight's reservation for the James Dean retrospective, then."

Kristen puts a hand on each side of Ellen's hips, biting the inside of her cheek not to smile too much. Let it not be said-- anything. People shouldn't say anything anymore.

"Nah," she says with a mock-frown, leaning down to peck Ellen on the lips. "I'm sure he won't mind sharing."


End file.
